Into the Void
by ShadowWolf181
Summary: Wally West is haunted by his mistake that resulted in the untimely demise of his beloved parents. For as long as he still breathes Wally is adamant about making himself suffer. Dick Grayson knows something is wrong. That it's not just his parents' deaths that torment him. But he has no idea what it is. In the past he could fix anything. But he's not sure whether he can fix this.


Yeah it's been a while since I've last written a fic. It's just that whatever I write sounds terrible these days and I don't know how to cure this feeling.

In any case, this is my very first Young Justice fan fic that I've been meaning to write for a while but just never got around to it until recently. I'm trying to make the story suspenseful and filled with a decent amount of angst and love scenes. That's my goal anyway, but I've been out of practice for a year or so I think, so just bear with me okay?

We all know that in YJ Kid Flash's aunt and uncle simply adore our sincere and carefree lad. _We _know we love him, but that's because he's so easy to love! But in this fic I made some changes to Aunt Iris and Uncle Barry… okay I made _a lot _of changes to their characters, but that's because the story wouldn't flow as well if they were left alone. As for KF's best friend and love interest, Dick (aka Robin), he hasn't changed much. I'm not sure yet since I haven't gotten to him.

Anyway, if you like the fic I would be grateful if you left me a review to inform me of how I did or what you thought of it. Thanks and enjoy!

X—X

_Talking to myself all the way to the station_

_Pictures in my head of the final destination_

_All lined up, all the ones that aren't allowed to stay_

_Tried to save myself but myself keeps slipping away_

X—X

He was alone… again.

Not that he minded it much. The loneliness had a tendency to bequeath a peace of mind he had never found elsewhere. Except on certain days when the loneliness became too much for him to handle, days like today when it was especially overwhelming. The presence of isolation shattered the tough exterior he had toiled so hard to construct and seeped through the cracks, poisoning the bloodstream. Time itself acted as a two-edged sword. What it gave with one hand it extracted with the other. A blessing and a curse, though nowadays the red haired speedster felt more anathematized than anything.

The seventeen year old emitted a restive sigh and sat up Indian style on the ugly couch his aunt, Iris, had purchased for cheap at a yard sale last summer. He _hated _that damn couch, but it was better than sitting on the filthy carpet a shade of caramel that padded the basement floor. The couch was rather ancient and the color of shit (it kind of smelled like it too sometimes, probably on account of the cushions not having been washed in a while). As the redhead zoned out, thoughts of suicide came back with a vengeance to haunt his unguarded mind. He's had them before and knew it wouldn't be the last time either, not as long as he was entombed in this nightmare one usually called a life.

Earlier that afternoon, Aunt Iris had fixed her nephew a small plate of ham sandwich and BBQ chips with a tall glass of chocolate milk. Bearing in mind the youth's voracious appetite, the late lunch was pretty pathetic and not even close enough to mollifying the threatening grumble within his stomach. But he ate it without complaint, grateful that his aunt even bothered to feed him in the first place, and savored each bite and the weight of nourishment on his tongue.

The speedster's gaze drifted unintentionally to the stainless steel knife smothered in Miracle Whip that lay abandoned on the empty plate beside him. His malachite eyes flashed with something anyone would recognize as inner turmoil. Gradually and deliberately he picked up the knife—rubbing off the creamy white substance with a used napkin—and stared at his reflection.

Fragmented, just like him.

Suicide attempts were no stranger to him. The redhead often found himself reading books and surfing Internet websites discussing the best method of leaving this godforsaken planet. There was a little something for everyone—mostly individuals just opted for the quick and painless way, others choosing the slow and painless way. Why anybody would favor the quick/slow and painful method was beyond rationality. Without a second thought, he pointed the serrated blade at his chest. It would be so easy to just jab the sharp object with full force into his beating heart and end it all, right here, right now…

"Damn," he muttered irately. All these years and still he's too chicken shit to finish the job. When will he learn to man up?

In the next minute the familiar clink of a key turning in a lock resonated to the speedster's ears, and the door at the top of the steps opened. White light that radiated from the fluorescent bulbs in the kitchen flooded into the basement, nearly blinding the poor youth. Over the course of time, his eyes had attuned to the dim lighting an overhead lamp or two down in the basement—where he spent most of his time these days—had provided. There was the rising rhythm of footsteps; whoever had unlocked the door was descending the stairs and halted abruptly on the second to last step.

Part of the redhead was surprised to see who it was.

"Uncle Barry?"

"Get your stuff Wally," is all his uncle had said before turning and starting up the stairs.

Wally didn't need to be told twice. He gathered whatever items he deemed important enough not to leave behind, including the silverware, and half ambled, half ran after Barry. When he reached the threshold he stopped, staring at his uncle with a look Barry knew too well from certain moments in the past. Since Wally's childhood actually. It was an expression that asked, "Is it safe?" The man sighed and raked calloused fingers through his short blonde hair, and enquired coolly, "Are you going to stand there all night, or what?"

"What about Aunt Iris?" he asked tentatively.

"Don't concern yourself with her. I'll deal with her later. Just come in and grab a seat."

Barry seemed unsettled at the mention of his wife, but it soon passed and his words were firm, though it sounded like he was trying to reassure himself more than his nephew. Wally pulled out a chair at the round kitchen table his mother had presented with Aunt Iris as an anniversary gift before her and her husband, Rudy, died.

_Mom… Dad…_

Images of them smiling and laughing flashed before his eyes and he suddenly felt nauseated. He wanted to scream and weep just like he did on that fateful afternoon, but the spring of tears had dried up long ago. He had no desire to quit mourning their horrific demise and the sickening fact that he's still alive. God must be punishing him, and rightfully so. Wally needed to suffer, _wanted _to suffer because it's _his _fault that his parents are gone and he's not.

"You want something to eat?"

Wally's head snapped up, startled as he forgot for a minute where he was. Uncle Barry had been eyeing the young speedster with a dour frown. He knew his nephew had been reminiscing over _that particular_ _day_ and desperately wished he'd stop already. Nothing good ever came from lingering in the past, just pain and regret, but he has a strong feeling that that is exactly what Wally had planned.

_The kid doesn't want a release or to continue living. He wants to suffer… he wants to die… No, look at his eyes… he might already be dead._

"No thanks Uncle. I'm not really hungry right now," Wally said softly.

Just as Barry started to speak the sound of the front door opening and shutting closed echoed throughout the house. Aunt Iris set her car keys on the small hook suspended in the hallway that led to the kitchen and dining room area. Skimming through a stack of unopened mail envelopes, Iris ambled into the kitchen where her husband usually had a scrumptious dinner prepared for her before she returned home from a tiresome day at her job.

"Hey babe, I'm back! I have to tell you what went down with Deb at work tod—"

Iris's speech was cut off abruptly once she saw Wally _sitting_ at the _kitchen _table. Her emerald eyes switched to Barry then, who began to explain the situation, but quickly shut his mouth when Iris shot him a glare that could melt steel. Wally remained silent, too ill at ease to even move or look his aunt in the eye in fear of causing another one of her terrifying outbursts. So he pretended to be more intrigued with the brilliant full moon playing a game of peek-a-boo behind the dark clouds outside the window above the sink. His concentration was rudely interrupted, however, for Iris tightly clutched Wally's chin and forced his head in her direction. He stared straight ahead at her favorite maroon blouse she normally went to work with every Friday.

"What the hell is going on here?" she enquired to no one specifically in an ominously low voice.

Barry stood up then and bandaged his arms around his wife's curvy waist, turning her to face him in order to cut off her physical contact with Wally. He leaned forward to kiss her, but Iris—already irate—killed the action by placing an index finger curtly on Barry's lips.

"C'mon Iris," he implored delicately. "The kid's been down there since yesterday. He apologized already. Can't you give him a break? Even a superhero needs his freedom."

"Freedom?" she scoffed. "What that brat _needs _is _discipline_. You've seen him Barry, you _know_ what he does when he thinks others aren't paying attention." Iris scrunched her nose in utter disgust at Wally. Then she redirected her attention to her husband. "And since when do you make these decisions without notifying me first? We had a deal Barry. While you're out there… playing superhero… I stay home and watch the brat. Unless he's needed with you, which I hope won't be often. He has more important things to focus on than saving every person who finds themselves in a bind. His grades are _plummeting_, Barry!"

"I know, I know babe," he said on a sigh. "Listen, I don't think he'll be needed in the field much. The city has been… _miraculously_ _quiet_… for the past few weeks, and whatever crimes were committed had been dealt with by Batman and the League."

Reassured, Iris patted Barry on the cheek fondly and gave him a fast but loving kiss to let him know everything was settled. Then she moved away toward the stairs to start removing her formal attire.

"I'm going to take a shower. I expect dinner to be ready by the time I'm done," she shouted on her way up the staircase.

Barry stared at his nephew, who stared back, and sent a sad and weary smile. He ruffled Wally's short red hair affectionately.

"You're aunt's right, kid. It's time you stopped focusing on fighting and started focusing on receiving a good education. Next week you're going back to school."


End file.
